He's Dying
by YunieEvie
Summary: There isn't a force strong enough to stop Reno of the Turks. But despite that, there's a cold certainty weighing him down all the while; the knowledge that no matter what he tells himself now, there's really nothing he can think or say or do any longer. He's dying. / One-Shot, rated M for strong language and character death.


**Warnings: **Canon character death. Cursing (a lot). This fic is written in what I consider to be Reno's dialect – that is to say, his shortening of speech and his use of the word, "yo" at times. It's not written from his personal perspective, but for me, writing it in his tone of voice was what really brought the emotions out of me while I wrote it. I apologise in advance if the dialect and grammar is difficult to decipher – I did my best to keep it as simple as possible without destroying the overall idea of it.

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**He's Dying**

In the end, it takes a bullet t' break him.

One bullet that hits so fuckin' _hard_ that all he can do is twist 'n turn 'n…'_fuck, why does it hurt so bad?' _

'_Is this f' real?'_

No _way_ is it right.

Its bottomless; he's _plummetin'_ past ground Zero, _breakin' _whatever was there b'fore this hit, _fallin' _t' rough little pieces on his way down, _denyin'_ it all before he loses the ability t'…'n **all** he can do is get the fuck _out_ b'fore he loses it.

There's never been anythin' like this b'fore.

What _is_ it?

His every damn impulse, nature 'n **everythin'** that makes up _Reno the Turk_ is tellin' him t' bolt; _Run, kid._ Run as fast as that slum rat ya used t' be.

It's a sudden tumultuous flurry o' sensations that blink red int' his vision, flarin' the room 'n everythin' in it t' nought but fuckin' ruin. First, he's takin' the hit in all its intensity, bein' blinded by all the emotions 'n denial 'n tears that **violate** all o' what he _knows_.

_Fuck_; s'always been the emotions. He's never been able t' _deal_ with that shit.

But hey, s'alright when you've reached the end o' the line.

Game over.

Set, match.

He's already lost everythin'.

_This_ is nothin'.

This is the calm b'fore the tempest. B'fore everythin' is _shattered_ 'n _ripped_ 'n _changed_ int' somethin' so broken that all he can do is anticipate it has an endin' he can escape from.

'_S'it kid, ya' played it well 'til now.'_

He was doin' so **well**.

He'd found somethin' _perfect_, see. Somethin' that was _his _'n nothin' was goin' t' take that away. He used t' think he'd never find it. There was no _place_ f' slum rats; nothin' better than what life had dealt 'em in the first place. That was b'fore ShinRa. B'fore the Turks.

Now _that_; that was somethin' that couldn't be taken away; not by _death_.

Right?

S'what he's been tellin' himself. S'what they've _all_ been tellin' 'emselves. See, death is a game Turks don't deal in unless it's t' play God.

Deal what's on th' cards, swing for a kill 'n "**BAM**_, ya' done_."

'_Outta th' park, next 'client' please.'_

But this _ain't_ like that.

He's back on that _break_ again - that precipice he's been lookin' out over a million times b'fore now, n' _fuck_ everythin' else, 'cause he's never had a reason t' _fall_ off it.

There's never been nothin' there, _nothin'_ solid or strong enough t' send him hurtlin' _off_ that empty space. 'N what's it feel like any-fuckin'-way? D'yer smile 'n enjoy the wind whistlin' past or d'ya brace yerself f' an innards-crushin' hit?

_Fuck_ if he could guess.

S'gonna be the latter whichever damn way he takes it - he just doesn't know that yet.

But you know, fuck **this**.

He's never had anythin' this _good_ b'fore; nothin' t' make him feel like he was worthwhile.

_ShinRa._

ShinRa was _easy_, yo; ya' just had t' remember – remember that _they didn't need you like you needed them_.

N' it had never bothered him.

He was a _pro._

ShinRa might not have needed Reno, but the Turks sure as hell did. N' fuck, he _loves_ the job.

'N it _is_ love; s'always been love 'n s'what he'll take t' his freakin' headstone, because there's nothin' and no one quite like Reno o' the Turks, yo.

S'a game o' hearts 'n he lost _way_ back when.

It's irrevocable 'n unequivocal 'n irreversible _'n it' was always goin' t' destroy him but he didn't think it'd be so soon. _

It's _pain_. It's hurtin' so bad that he can't possibly stop. Not now. He's seein' red on his way out, n' he's just glad that he damn well made sure that the worthless fucker who shot him had taken his own death with a precision that a bullet wasn't goin' t' taint.

But Reno? No, Reno's not goin' t' be one t' sink t' his knees n' wait f' the darkness t' come n' claim him.

He can't _do _that.

No matter what he does now, there's nobody left t' feel what's tearin' through him, even after he's stolen his last life in the name of ShinRa's Turks, punctuatin' each blow with a thought - 'cause there's no way Reno o' the Turks is takin' a bullet n' bleedin' out slowly f' _nothin',_ yo.

He thinks about Rude. He's gonna miss that guy.

Wait –

_No. _

No, he's not. He's gonna be dead in a few minutes, maybe less. He won't have _nothin'_ or _nobody_ t' miss. He won't be _able_ t'. But he can't help but wonder; _will they miss him_?

**Dammit**-

How _dare_ time be up now…how _dare_ death hand out a sentence t' him…how _dare_ he bleed f' _anythin'_…how _dare_ Reno not have the **answers **he needs t' give himself right now…'n how fuckin' _dare_ he _**die**_.

But Turks _do_ die.

Turks lives are always a liability. But that's just it. It's a sudden cold, hard perspective t' face when he looks back 'n remembers his life; n' it's just one long blip of _murder_ n' _blood_ 'n not really _carin'_ about _anythin'_.

It's an even _crueller_perspective when he looks back 'n sees all th' things he _should_ have valued.

Now, it's all just a moment; a _glimpse _o' somethin' called _mortality_ - which is bullshit in itself 'cause he's a fuckin' **Turk **baby, 'n there ain't no _real_ bow out for a _Turk_.

Then, he's denyin' it all; what's it _like_ lookin' at your own damn clock 'n _watchin'_ the time run down? Does it speed up 'n leave you suddenly breathless on your knees 'n seein' things clearly for the first time in this spun tale that's been called your '_life_'?

Well, he knows that now, doesn't he?

He knows now - with painful clarity that just seems unfair - just how it feels t' _know_ ya dyin'.

The guy he's just splattered int' a bloody mess must've known, t'. Briefly, but he'd have known. But even when Reno himself is painted properly in blood 'n tears 'n breathin' like he's just ran a damn mile, its still _guilt _that hits him squarely in the chest.

Not for th' guy in pieces at his feet 'n all over th' damn walls, _course_ it fuckin' ain't…but _guilt_ for all the times he wasn't there; the times he turned tail 'n _ran_ when emotions were too frightenin' t' sit 'n play with.

'N followin' swiftly is _realisation_; he's doin' the same thing now 'n turnin' tail _again_ by tellin' himself that he's alright. He's gonna _survive. _But he knows he ain't; the blood is thick n' fast, n' _damn_: he didn't ever expect t' look down n' see so much o' his own blood flowin' fast quite like that.

It makes sense in a way. The fastest Turk is on his way out; _fast_.

Fuck; now death is a completely altered concept; he on a timer, bein' chased down while he chases the end o' the line.

'N even if he's doesn't _win_, he'll chase this fuckin' bullet down 'n outdo it; he can't 'n won't stand with it. But that just brings him t' his knees, n' f' once, he doesn't mind. It was gettin' t' difficult t' stay on his feet, anyway. N' sure, he'll mumble a shallow curse as he hits the ground, but this is no place for _grief_; it ain't **done** yet.

It ain't _gonna_ be done 'til he's ready.

There ain't a force _strong_ 'nuf t' stop Reno; n' that's his only shred o' _sense_ where there's really none left at all.

He's lost somethin' along the way n' he's always been conscious of it; a fragile shard o' somethin' the "normal's" call 'sanity', but it's trivial in the face o' everythin' happenin' t' him now. He _knows_ he can't halt it. Everythin' happened t' fast.

All those bullshit assurances he's silently givin' himself ain't doin' _nothin'_; not when he can't even stay on his knees any longer, not when he's on his back starin' up at a blank sky, waitin' f' what he knows is next.

Darkness, right?

It's darkness that will end it all n' stop his mind from takin' him in circles: '_I'll be alright. I'm fine. It was only one bullet. I'm not dyin'. Not like this. I'll do anythin'. Please, please, please…_'

But despite that, there's a cold certainty weighin' him down all the while now; this knowledge that no matter what he tells himself now, there's really nothin' he _can_ think or say or do.

Nothin'.

'N then he's lookin' out over that precipice again, 'n it's _cold_ 'n it _hurts_ 'n he just can't _understand_.

Why?

_Why_ is this happenin'? _Why_ t' him? _Why_ can't he stop it? _Why_ can't he do somethin' other than lie here n' stare up through red tinted vision?

'_Good show, Reno; good show. What card yer gonna play from 'ere?'_

Time's **up**; he's been dealt his hand by a fucker called _Fate_ 'n now he's bein' forced t' play it out slowly. He already knows he can't do it this time; he's not gonna come out th' other side.

He's got just enough strength left t' feel one last fitful wave of rage take him over – he didn't _choose_ this. He's been dealt somethin' _pitiless_ 'n _destroyin'_ 'n _somethin'_ that's gonna eat him alive…_'n fuck, he can't __**take**__ it. _

Another few seconds tryin' t' find any last bit o' strength t' grab ont' 'n the digs **up**.

He's fuckin' _spent_.

He'll lie here then, will he? Amongst the wreckage n' bloodshed he's caused (in the name of ShinRa, o'course. What else is this but _work?_)

It figures that in the end, his loyalty to ShinRa would be paid back in his own blood.

_Fuck it_; he's almost suffocatin' under the weight o' all the emotion 'n starin' over the edge o' that cold precipice again, still wonderin'; **why?**

He knows one thing, though, even as the darkness he's been expectin' starts t' ebb his vision away slowly. He knows that it ain't rational t' think how unjust this is. It ain't logical t' be thinkin' over how it _shouldn't be happenin' t' him. _

Reno: the slum rat turned Turk who's been nothin' but a murderin' bastard since birth, tearin' up more lives than can be easily remembered. But that's just another thing he couldn't have helped, b'cause once ya' _love_ somethin', it's impossible t' be rational about it, n' he damn straight _loved_ his job.

But here it is, **all** laid out. Here _he_ is, all laid out; insides on the outside.

'N now?

_Storms comin'. _

Maybe it's another test. Maybe he _can_ fight this 'n come out all grins 'n sharp edges in the end; the way he's always done.

Maybe he'll wake up t'morrow in the infirmary with Rude leanin' over him while Reno himself manages t' mumble out a smartass comment.

Or maybe…

Maybe graspin' on with desperate fingers t' impossibilities is just gonna toss him righ' off that precipice.

Yea', that sounds about right, 'cause it's all gone quiet now n' he can't really remember where he is or what he was doin' in the first place, n' all the pain has melted away, leavin' him with one last thing t' do.

His hands are shakin' n' he's not entirely sure he can even feel his arms, but they're steady enough as he reaches up t' grasp bloody fingers at his pilot goggles, pullin' 'em down over his eyes. They're covered in red smears, but it doesn't even matter 'cause he only sees it for a few heartbeats b'fore the darkness sets in.

Now he's complete. He's fallin' off that precipice now, but he isn't as scared as he thought he would be.

Instead, he's suddenly sure that no matter where he ends up, be it heaven, hell or purgatory, he'll land amongst somethin' that resembles peace o' mind; n' he might be mangled 'n bloody 'n bruised 'n twisted, but he'll still be alright, 'n he'll still be _smilin'_-

'Cus at least that way, in th' midst of impossibility, blood n' war, he'll still be Reno o' the Turks.

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**A/N** I've never as yet been able to fully express my love for this character, and I guess it goes to figure that my first published fic happens to be killing him off. Yeah, what is logic anyway?

I'd appreciate any feedback, thoughts etc and thank you for reading!


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